The Best Thing That Can

Vanity Is A Weakness. I Know This. It's A Shallow Dependence On The Exterior Self, On How One Looks Instead Of What One Is. I Know This Well... Vanity And Dishonesty May Be Vices, But They're Also The First Forms Of Protection I Ever Knew.

How Am I Supposed To Let You Go, That's All I'm Asking. I Want To Hold You Again, Smell You, And, Yes Too, I Just Want You To Fade. To Please, Please Fade.

My Daughter Squealed Again And Both Bubba And I Winced. It’s Not An Attractive Sound, That. It’s High-pitched And It Enters Your Ear Canals Like Hot Glass. No Matter How Much I Love My Daughter, I Will Never Love Her Squealing. Or Maybe I Will. Maybe I Do. Driving Down 93, I Realized Once And For All, That I Love The Things That Chafe. The Things That Fill Me With Stress So Total I Can’t Remember When A Block Of It Didn’t Rest On Top Of My Heart. I Love What, If Broken, Can’t Be Repaired. What, If Lost Can’t Be Replaced. I Love My Burdens.

He Wondered If This Was What Clinical Depression Felt Like, A Total Numbness, A Weary Lack Of Hope.

This World Can Only Give Me Reminders Of What I Don't Have, Can Never Have, Didn't Have For Long Enough.